Lamentable Allowances
by The Drunken Scribbler
Summary: Post War, non epilogue congruent. Hermione is missing from the spotlight as the war comes to a close. Judgement has been served upon the Malfoy family. The prophet has published every scrap of information they can fabricate, but what really happened, and where is Ms. Granger?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A New Introduction

"The walls of my home, once filled with the echoes of childhood laughter and stalwart as a fortress, are now as insubstantial and sharp as a wrought iron fence. Inside I feel the cold wind sweeping through the halls, chilling my bones, though the foundations, are in truth, impenetrable. Far more so than once they were. Nothing can breach them, not even a breeze, and nothing can leave. To what extent does protection become a prison? No matter how far stretching or accommodating there are bars, invisible iron burning my mind. I am unsure in my self, who is being kept safe, me, or the world from me. Am I insane?"

He scoffs as he looks down at her manic scribbles. "So even the pragmatic heroine gets bored of her own company". Her home was much larger than he had anticipated, he had been under the impression that muggles lived in stackable boxes, their apparent poverty the natural result of the lack of culture muggleborns entered civilization with. Retrospectively he realized that many purebloods would have had even worse manners than any 11 year old would upon the shock of learning there was a whole world in hiding around the corner. He shook himself, that is what had started the abhorrent fanaticism with Voldemort's ideals. The presumed superiority, and rhetoric of disdain. This Dark Lord just happened to expose pureblood society as hypocritical, as well as foolish. The one scheme a true slytherin would never have been caught dead in; putting themselves and their families in the position of prostrating groveling followers, without any anonymity or recourse for escape. It became clear to him that ambitions of grandeur were as blinding as the slits in the masks they were given, and his worth and independence as valued as the brand of ownership he so fervently rubbed at the moment. "We were marked as surely as the rest, all of us cattle".

Though Draco knew that his previous education concerning muggles and their magical spawn was incorrect, the insidious hatred his cultural upbringing had pounded into him still subconsciously told him to expect a hovel less tended than even the Weasleys. He couldn't help but wonder if she had hidden her wealth as much as Potter because of the third wheel in the golden trio. He was surprised after all this time he had not acknowledged that Hermione, reluctantly admitted equal in power and intelligence, could possibly rival him in wealth and influence as well. Shame spread across his face making him itch, throat tightening for a moment as he murmured, "What I must have looked like...Ugh," but he thought if he had comprehended these things before his doubts began, he probably would have acted the same, perhaps even worse. He never did like to be wrong, and she was always the top of their year.

Despite being transported to the Granger's home, and inadvertently taking over residence in her room, the only contact Draco had with her were via a collection of charmed notes stuffed in her rubbish bin, as though ruthlessly ripped from a notebook. Draco had a hard time envisioning Hermione harming anything remotely resembling a book, perhaps her own work was an exception to her staunch respect of anything printed. Strange that she didn't just erase the evidence, but perhaps only death eaters expected someone to search their garbage for personal information. He couldn't bring himself to discard them, but that didn't stop him from reading them either. Or trying to, besides the first torn page he couldn't decipher the spells the witch had used without laborious effort. It wasn't until he cursed it and nicked his hand, obscuring the white page with a smattering of blood, did he realize the beacon of light, Hermione Granger, knew very well guarded pureblood secrets. Secrets he previously believed were only written and viewed by those of The Blood.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Rainfall

"When will my tenure in this cage end. The war is over, no one knows what happened, and yet I rot. I can't recall why I am here, but that will change, I feel the memories pushing at my mind. They couldn't take them away completely. I know I have been betrayed. I hear them sometimes, their voices waft through the study vent where I hide, they should know better and change their appearances, and silence their footfalls. This is my home, I know its secrets and it shields mine. Yet they persist in looking through my things thinking I can not keep secrets if I have no wand. My wand...My wand. It matters little I will have a new one, I can manage without for now, we had our differences in the end. I am still the same person, but I refuse to be unprepared. I need more knowledge, and they have grown lax in their guard duties. They seem to have forgotten that I concocted the demise of Tom Riddle, I kept Harry alive not just to take to the slaughter. Foolish old man."

Draco read the passage over again many times, along with the first depressing scrap of poetry. He imagined he was as confused as she apparently was, what was this about the old imbecile sacrificing his favorite pupil. How exactly had the Dark Lord...Voldemort died, if it wasn't Potters infuriating luck. Either way it appeared to be much more complicated, and perhaps Potter had not gone into the forest alone as was purported that haunting night. Draco recalled the fear as he crossed the lines, and the thought of the world looking as it did in that moment, clammy grey stones slick with splashes of clotted dull copper. Confident that Voldemort would suck the color and life out of the land until everyone became as mad as his Aunt Bella. It made sense that if Dumbledore had failed that it would have been impossible for just one man to stop the imminent destruction of light. The faces of the death eaters on the receiving side had sealed the Malfoys fate, they wouldn't live through the night, no matter the outcome. When Potter had vanquished the Dark Lord he felt a seed of hope, and triumph in a fortunate escape. He had no doubt that his family would be punished. His father had lost all advantageous connections in the ministry, and his old friends spat through their holding cells, slurs, that he once flippantly used on other fallen purebloods at school. His mother was fine, on house arrest and happily renovating. His father's assets were seized while he served time. As for himself, he did not get sent to Azkaban thanks to the Golden duo in person, minus a red haired saint cursing in the atrium. Instead he was to be confined in a muggle residence to reform away from "the wrong sorts" as he had proven himself impressionable but terrible at actually killing his intended targets. Potter had been passionate concerning the psychological implications of being reared in pureblood culture, as well as enlightening the shocked wizards and witches at the trial with stating all Draco's actions had been under duress due to Tom Riddle threatening the lives of his family while living at the manor. Granger picked up the threads with a well rehearsed speech on the magical justice system, or lack thereof, and not only demanded the wizard prison sack the dementors but also made some very interesting suggestions on how to establish a rehabilitating system for the betterment of society, which included "basic decency towards humankind". The memory caused his lips to tug to one side, where was a pensive when you needed one. Both of them truly had uncontrollable hair, though at the time he had hardly dare breath and his mind was decidedly elsewhere.

He peered out of the window, between the lattices he saw a flicker in the rain. More like a sliding of droplets in the wrong direction. A small patch, unlikely to be a guard on rotation, he hadn't even seen any now that he thought about it. "Is she in an invisibility cloak?" How else could it be possible for her to move so imperceptibly. He wondered briefly where she was going at this time of night, then he recalled her note and wondered if his guards attention was wandering as well. His hand reached for the knob expecting to be shocked, it merely turned in his grasp. Perhaps he was allowed to roam, he hadn't asked the stoney faced sentries when they deposited him in the guest house. He could always feign ignorance. Draco started down the stairwell surreptitiously glancing at the paintings on the walls, until he noticed the lack of movement. They weren't asleep, or pretending as the portraits at Hogwarts sometimes did, they were actual art pieces, unmagiked. He stood still and admired them, reaching out to touch the rough texture.

"You know the oil from your hand will ruin the value, I particularly like that piece too. Some would say it is bleak, but that's only the foreground. The landscape in the background is so lush, one wonders why the perspective is so far away. But contrast is arguably what makes, anything really, more interesting, wouldn't you say?" Draco hadn't heard her approach, if he hadn't lived with the Dark Lord swirling around the manor, he knew he would have jumped at her unexpected proximity. Rattled, he took a moment to pretend to consider whilst recovering his barings. "It is simple, but life like, I had for an instant expected the scenery to move, perhaps the effect would be lost if the objects were brought closer for scrutiny." He hoped he gave her a passable response, he had instinctively been polite as though at a viewing with a peer, forgetting his company in the ritual of conversation. "I had expected sarcasm. I have to disagree with your insight however, I always find objects worthy of my scrutiny to be even more enlightening upon closer inspection." The pause that accompanied her words was soft, she glanced at him as he looked closer at the painting with renewed interest. Suddenly she felt the need to add, "Though I do see your point, this instalment works as a larger whole, and would lose its appeal if we omitted the foreground in favor of scenery that might be more pleasing on the initial intake. It would be truly simple if there was not depth in the landscape. I wonder if I could one day make it magically pan the landscape on the periphery." Another cursory glance seemed to satisfy her and without a rebuttal she turned quickly and left. Draco's eyes followed her until she disappeared, startled by her sudden departure. Perhaps she had come back to her rooms, had she known he would be here? If she was surprised she had more artfully disguised it than he had. Left alone his gaze settled on the painting again, in something akin to awe he discovered he had participated in a conversation with a woman he had tortured all throughout his school years and was distinctly unsettled by the lack of hostility. It was as though he had just spoken with a ghost. Her presence was so quickly retracted the situation took on the aspect of a dream. Continuing down the stairs was almost foreboding, in the grips of a mysterious visitation in a house that seemed to breathe along with his tentative steps. The wood beneath his feet never creaked as some of the manor stairs oft times did, and though the runner softened his journey there was still a pattern following his progress, unlike hers. The passage from the notes "... I know its secrets and it shields mine" flitted across his mind, who was keeping her here, and why, more importantly (in his mind), why was he here with her? Only after the fact did he realize that she had not been carrying the tell tale ripple of an invisibility cloaks insubstantial folds.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Curiosity

Hermione had been making her rounds, meandering slowly through the sloping hills that bordered the tangle of trees which thickened to compact forest on her estate. She stilled, listening for echoes. After visiting the guest house to ascertain just whom had been stowed away within, what she was fond of calling her sanctuary, she continued her necessary trek towards the front entrance. Nothing will have changed, but she enjoyed feeling the reassurance of checking the wards, feeling them buzz across her skin. She believed she could even smell the difference in the air as she approached now. Malfoy was in her rooms, and had broken an enchantment she had been testing. The momentary vulnerability was overcome quickly by excitement. She had left those out hoping that they would be triggered, though never expecting Malfoy to have seen them as anything other than garbage, they had been left for others who looked through her discarded items. Chuckling to herself Hermione saw the turn of events as ironic. Ironic that Malfoy, who suspected nothing was the one to discover her research, and those who kept her here hadn't a clue. Could he be considered her friend now? She really had no real experience with becoming acquainted with previous enemies, as she had equal skill in deciphering who were actually her friends, perhaps that didn't really matter. She had always counted on one, and loved the other, where had that gotten her? Upon further inspection of her primary years at Hogwarts, she really had not made any other connections. Hermione could not trust herself to filter out whether her lack of social aptitude was genuinely her own awkward stubbornness or a subtle manipulation of her surroundings. All to make her more available for the other sacrifice in the machinations of Albus Dumbledor, for his version of the greater good. Tom Riddle, in Hermiones' mind was obviously a product of such a botched experiment.

Branches snapped against her unprotected forehead, bringing her out of her contemplations in time to avoid ripping a snarled tendril of hair. Unwinding it dutifully, she looked around. The landscape spread out underneath her, pockets of chalky rock strewn haphazardly through the untended grasses. Breathing deeply the scent of rain soaked fauna, she watched the wind race through the feathered meadow vegetation. In moments like these Hermione did not feel the constant whirring of her mind, she let go of the unruly pieces of life that did not seem to fit any longer to the plan she had so carefully crafted. She did not feel herself lacking, or manic, but calm and optimistic. All things in life pass, and the days rise the same in this small corner as any other. Despite her stillness, life teemed around her, vibrant. She had always been a pragmatic witch, it was time to set in motion a new plan, she hoped Draco Malfoy would not be a variant. She smirked thinking back on his reaction to her appearance, Hermione for once was grateful that Slytheriens by nature were very much like Ravenclaws, curiosity would keep him ensnared as surely as his need for allies. Quickening her pace, backtracking her distracted progress, Hermione found the irony in this less humorous than earlier. Sighing she rhymed aloud, "enemies free, once bound together, allies, or another failure" a snort from a tree had her mentally pinching her nose in consternation. A wheedling voice emerged from the hard wood, "A poet you will never be, if you are worse than we, the Hickory tree." Snickers emerged from the bark encrusted shapes froliking between the bows. Hermione could only glower, " Poet I may never be, but at least I am not a tree with termites dancing in my leaves." Shrieks of indignation, belly rumbling belches, and shouts of amused "Oi, Oi, not our mother tree" chorused out of the foliage along with much rustling. Their breach of etiquette signaled by much grumblings of, "Termites indeed, well I have a thing or two to say about your mother you shrew!", that Hermione's need to rhyme was past. She looked up at the peeling bark of a magnificent tree, it's trunk many spans larger than herself, just beginning to turn. The little imps had not truly been offended, if they had Hermionie would have found her boot laces tied together and sap on her doorknobs, none of which had yet happened since her first meeting with the fae within her grounds.

She could remember brownies froliking around the house, and many other creatures besides, ever since she was young but she had never communicated with them, no one else had and they never paid her any mind. Upon going to Hogwarts she had assumed that the castle would also have these constant silent companions, and was very disconcerted that it didn't. Fred and George had assured her that they milled about the grounds, Hagrid seeing to their needs; but then she found out about the house elves and was utterly mortified. Her land had made her aware and comforted by other societies, but the complaisance that she had exhibited made her feel so wretched, after learning they did not indeed have equal rights, that she had immediately upon returning home tried to communicate with the house fairies. She learned very quickly that they demanded a particular greeting and level of consistency to be prevailed upon to answer in polite terms. At first the Fae had been startled, then mischievous. They put pine needles at the foot of her bed under the covers awaiting Hermione's inhalation of surprise, or to pop around a corner and give her some dreadfully crude hand gestures and faces. At that point many had recognized her and befriended her, taught her how to approach and introduce herself, and continue to initiate greetings. Rhyming was one scheme, as is sacrificing or offering something, but that is often more tricky as Fae can be very sensitive and easily offended, not to mention tricky. On more than one occasion a seemingly innocuous Fae had tried to steal a few years, or her firstborn. Hermione guessed that perhaps some of the myths she had read, assuming they were racial slurs, were a tad more accurate than the cosseted stories concerning fairy godparents. Not to say of course that Fairies couldn't be extremely helpful, wise, and willing to share knowledge and experience with a curious young witch. Though their gifts were not always expected, per say. Some of the knowledge that Hermione had acquired could not be said to have been particularly safe either, or a more accurate term should be, legal; however, Hermionies besetting sin would always be curiosity and the compulsion to understand the infinite questions of the universe, despite the consequences.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Waterfall

He didn't remember the passages into the house being so long and tangled. By the time he stepped foot on natural ground he was out of breath and confused. Though he knew he was a stranger to the premises he counted twelve minutes to get to his rooms upstairs when he was guided. Contemplation made him reflect on the myriad of spells his own fortress contained. Was it the case of detaining him now which caused the time to lengthen or were the passages in the past modified in order for his retainers to obtain their goals faster, in order for them to leave, wiping their hands clean none the wiser? The "Granger Manor" was interesting to say the least. It's occupant even more so. Why was Hermione ensorcelled here of all places after the trio had saved the wizarding world? Draco thought it would be best to check his limitations before solving the wizarding heroes dirty laundry. How far could he go without being apparated back to his comfortable cell. The grass was overgrown, and the trees around the perimeter would have made his mother shudder at the lack of organization and intention. Ironically Draco had always thought that Granger and his mother had that in common, the need to control even the forces of the world around them to the last blade of grass. It appeared that he was once again incorrect in his assumption.

Recalling, with a snigger that broke off his train of thought, one summer day on break, happening upon his mother in her private gardenings enjoying tea, that was not simply just tea, he himself hiding after dashing out of the house to avoid another scolding, most likely about losing to a mudblood. She hadn't even looked surprised, "Oh, Draco, is it your Father again?", she said stoically sipping from bone china. "Not you too Mother, that witch is insane, I could do just as well, as I told Father, but I must upkeep my social obligations, unlike the mudblood, she has no connections" scoffing he added, "or friends". As he had approached her, she patted the seat beside her, looking at him, in a way he would later realize was a fracture in her facade, but at the moment had smelled the tonic in her cup and attributed it to nervous inebriation, in concern. She had looked at him in concern and it was foriegn, "Do you have no one either my Draco" she murmured. "As I just said Mother, I have too many obligations on my time, no need to chastise me." A firm but small hand gripped his shoulder, "No,_ friends_ Draco, trust and a liability that reach beyond obligation, to basic commonality?" He had not been able to respond, he wasn't equipped to, but after that conversations many times in his fever dream under Lord Voldemort, he had wondered if his mother had ever had anyone that fit that description, and if perhaps the mudblood had also beat him in other intangible ways. Narcissa had smiled, loosened her grip on his shoulder, and said something that at the time had seemed even more grossley out of character, "Assumptions make an ASS out of us all.." and had refilled her cup, daintily taken her saucer and walked breezily away without a backwards glance at her son. Perhaps that exchange would not seem to others as humorous, but Draco thought it was the first time his mother had shown him weakness was strength, teaching him a valuable lesson while also shaking his world to splinters, and she had told a joke, with profanity, neither of which she had ever done.

He looked about him, and stopped, he had let his feet guide him without much thought to where he was placing them. In horror he glanced back towards the direction he believed he had just traveled from to encounter a wall of vines covering a solid trunk stretching impossibly upwards. His heart pummeled his ribs, berating himself a fool, he wildly contemplated scaling the tree using the vines to get a better vantage point. Shaking his head to clear his initial reaction he breathed deeply, and reorganized his thoughts. This was not Malfoy manor housing a demented lord of darkness, luring his followers into twisted forms of reality. He did not have a wand, but in this scenario he was not on cursed grounds, he simply needed to check his mental barriers to ascertain there wasn't any infiltration. The thought of his mind being tainted again left him feeling fragile. However, he found nothing, he looked around the tree, was about to stumble towards a small creek, when he glimpsed something above the tree line reflecting light, a weather vane. Apparently he had become attached to Granger's house of solitude. Draco reassessed his surroundings and started forwards purposefully. He didn't doubt the the grounds would change, he had to trust that he would be allowed to return, or was being led somewhere intentionally and would be guided back. Draco was now certain that the area surrounding Hermionies home, perhaps even the compound itself was steeped in magic, and would mindlessly hinder outside forces that would endanger their mistress. He hoped he would not be viewed as such, he had no purpose whatsoever perhaps lack of any convection, like so many times in his life, it would seem, would be his salvation.

Draco couldn't help but wonder if a muggle born witch would understand or appreciate how magical her land was, or have the knowledge to comprehend that it protected her from even the most powerful wizards and witches of their age. She must have an inkling, as she herself denoted her home shielding her from her captors. Draco however, felt that there was an even more subtle display of loyalty, and though it may be unsettling it had worked on him as well. A Malfoy did not simply stroll into a forest lost in thought after an acute desire to spy...or acquaint himself with his surroundings. No he had started to muse about specific memories and feelings as soon as he left the walls of the manor. It hadn't been aggressive, though he was sure it could have, and for that he reasoned it had the flavor of Hermione about it. He had quickly dismissed the idea that there were enchantments on this building set by others than Hermione's family line, there was so much saturation of magik that he was baffled by the age of the land around him, and looked at it with renewed interest. How could it have been hidden away from pureblood families? Draco ruffled his hair looking bemused, he had to acknowledge the likelihood of it being far older even than his ancestral home in England, though perhaps not his properties in France. It had the same feel, even smell as a generational magical abode, it had a life of its own. Even without those observations the proof he needed was in the skill and intention of these hints and impulses, they were not cast by an aggressive tyrant as surrounded the ministry buildings, or his own, this was kind but firm. Like Hermione lecturing her friends in the library, refusing to help, then surreptitiously inserting books into the featherheads stacks after enchanting certain passages to attract them. Draco allowed himself the satisfaction of imagining that Hermione probably didn't disenchant those passages and at some point a Slytherin would once again take advantage, and credit, of a Gryffindors hard work, or even better Madam Pince would catch an unwary student cheating, for that is what it was despite it being the golden girl's doing, and the professors tracing the magical signature only to find that it was Granger! His foot made a hollow thunk and he looked down. All thoughts of Weasley losing his Order of Merlin First Class fell away along with his breath as he looked at the bridge spread over a moderately sized waterfall cascading down into what appeared to be an ornamental lake down below. He could hear the roaring water now, and feel the spray as the water splashed past the wooden railing, bubbling through the cracks between the planks and pooling on the wooden surface. "Damn, where in the forsaken forest am I", and unexpectedly he received a gurgling reply.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Magik

Hermione perched on the Hickory's lowest limb sharing acorn tea with the folk. The labor process from gathering, soaking, and brewing was enough for a small service from these tree spirits. She was on relatively good terms with all the fae in this region, as she had always treated their host trees with kindness, not to mention spending hours reading aloud under their wide stretching arms. Protruding eyes stared at her between rustling leaves, "what are you wantin' from us, lass?", a stoat Fae asked, twinkling eyes alight from behind the rim of her clay cup. Hermione looked up in surprise. Usually there would be a period of polite banter between the forest folk during these encounters. "I know you are here for something youngling, and what you're asking a cuppa won't pay for, but we may be willing to give you what you need on pretext, as it benefits us like" the tea swirled around the thimble sized mug, thick and brown, as the Fae sat down beside Hermione looking at her steadily. What could be so important to these people that they wouldn't demand a price? No.. there would be a benefit for them, helping her helped them so they didn't need an extra price, she would somehow be doing them a favor with her future actions. Though the woman had implied that the cost was steep, the one in debt would be reversed, not her but the Fae. How intriguing, were they threatened by something they needed her to deal with that she would need her request fulfilled to understand? "How do you know what I need ma'am, I haven't been gossiping" Hermione said lightly with a rasp of a laugh. "No. No child, you ain't one to wag your tongue, most of the time that there is a virtue. But you have been wanderin' in these forests filled with thems that would help you, lost where you have always felt at home, and you've been thinking we would'na have noticed. We havin' known you since you was a babe, watching ya, we know what you are missing." Tapping her wrinkled brow with one gnarled twig like finger. Then smoothing her creased face, "we was wondering how long it'd take ya to come to us," her eyes lost their grave edge then as one of the round menfolk burst out, "but we do appreciate the tea, all the same girlie."

Hermione looked down at her own cup, the same faults she had always possessed; rushing in without utilizing all her assets (gryffindor traits), not trusting others, and feeling like seeking help was a form of manipulation; those weaknesses always came glaringly back to the surface after a fresh failure. Not being prepared had always been something that she found contemptible at Hogwarts, whether it was whilst researching, doing assignments, or planning out her goals; the boys never attended to her warnings; likewise, the Ministry certainly never heeded Dumbledores when he implored them to make precautions. Instead advisors were often removed, left to their own machinations on the sideline. The sideline...the birthplace of tyrants and the ominous sentiment, "The Greater Good". Hermione knew she had done something reprehensible, but that had ultimately won them the war without using people as pawns. She doubted very much that her actions had been more immoral than allowing an evil parasitic immortal soul a host for 17 years, a host that was lauded as a hero, all the while planning to kill them at the right moment. Severus Snape had deemed the coots plan cruel, but because he had gone along with it he was sanctified. She had shattered everyone's illusion; therefore, she was the raven, the bringer of dark events and bad tidings. They had not shot the messenger in this tale, only incarcerated it, and taken away it's wings. Her wand and her freedom, they thought. Hermione smiled, she had been raised as a muggle, unlike the upbringing they experienced, the loss of a wand did not make her vulnerable or powerless; or even particularly humiliated, which they had hoped it would. No, she repudiated the stigma of a wand and the superiority of what it symbolized. She hadn't needed it as a child and her socialization had been drastically different, enabling her to move past the "idea" that she required a wand to focus her magic, or to even perform it.

What had she done, the tree folks goading made only one thing evident to her, she had once again distracted herself with limits, instead of focusing on what she did posses and strengthening it. Ruefully, she realized how much time she had wasted making acorn tea, and how much amusement her audience had enjoyed these last few months seeing her stumble about getting in her own way. "Well I am most gratified, I'm sure" she growled up at the chortling fairies, for at this point she could hear the more dignified twittering of smaller winged sprites joining the raucous in the canopy above. She raised her fist in mock rage, the creatures bared their teeth in response and disappeared once more, though rattling branches and jovial Oi's punctuated the air from time to time as Hermione continued her conversation far below. It seemed that she didn't need to proceed with as much caution as usual. In fact Hermione had the feeling that the mandates for the asking were already fulfilled and in place, a new experience that filled her with uneasiness. "I need my memories intact, as you know. I suspect that not only have portions been obliviated, but perhaps many more have been reworked, and tampered with. Will the forest help me to recover what I have lost?" There was a pause, somehow her formal request sat uncomfortable and lacking. Unbidden much more oppressive thoughts tumbled over her tongue spurned on in response to the silence. Stuttering at first, Hermione unburdened herself, "I can't be sure of my own mind any longer, there is a creeping doubt anytime I recall events even from earlier in my childhood. I can feel wrongness there, and the spells are so entrenched I feel that they are meant to produce specific responses and deter me from inspecting further. I don't know if pushing through that warding will trigger other memory alterations." She looked beseechingly into the emerald eyes before her, "what bothers me the most is, why? I am locked up here, why is all of this" she motioned around her head in a circular sporadic movement "even necessary, or is there something else that is incomplete, did I not finish something important?" A thought struck her then that she hadn't even contemplated, she turned sharply, almost unseating herself in the process, towards her companion. In hushed ridged accents, "is Voldemort alive?" Her windpipe constricted.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The air hung heavily around them in the wake of those words, until it was dispelled by the warmth of a small hand on her arm. "He is beyond this world child, you rest easy now," her fingers were so insignificant that they vanished amongst the folds of Hermione's thick cloak, but they radiated there, seeping through her clothes to the broken pieces within that were so tense and frayed. The forest seemed to suddenly blur, the typical ambiance shuttered along with her vision and a faint humming could be heard all around her. Hermione felt lightheaded, her voice still constrained by adrenaline, her insides felt hot and sloshy. Bending her head low to her chest she listened to the rhythmic vibrations and aided the song with her own magic, wishing to feel reassured. A glow shone around the hand outstretched before her, encircling her in an aura of green . "What is this," Hermione sighed out. After a few more moments the glow faded, "am I healed... I feel different?" Her companion looked at her, "not yet lass, be patient. I just disabled reactionary wardin', and all the other nicknacks those at the castle smothered all over ya core. HA HA girlie they did not want you gettin' out!" With a slight tilting of her head she gruffly pushed on, "I'm Medea lass, which I don't give lightly now, an' don't you be a'worryin' about having tainted magic or triggering anything up in yer nob. They tangled your magic right up, so you could'na start healin', you should've come to us sooner lass. No wonder you feel better already, you had some powerful repression on ya, would'a made me crotchety too." A shower of twigs made Medea raise her eyebrows, but that did not deter a little pixie popping her head upside down out of a nearby hole trilling, "waspish, real rampage mor's like, out o' the way for Queen Mab" then sped away on gossamer green wings still loudly braying expletives. A penetrating glare followed it out of sight. "Hrmf, after all I do" the fae said in aggrieved tones. "Go on now girlie feel yerself whole."

Feeling her magic with closed eyes, Hermione took a moment to reach down from her toes all the way to her mind. It was strange, she hadn't known she had been magically wound up, it dawned on her that at school they had never taught them to recognize their own magical residues or stage practicals that would make them attune to their own core. "We only _use_ magic, but limit it to perform useful tasks without giving it attention; otherwise, but to oppress other wandless groups from using magik in its natural form. I had no idea to what extent." Medea gazed at Hermione sadly then out over the great expanse around them, "Aye, ya limit yourselves, others, an harm yer bairns as well. Ya _need_ primal magik, it's part o' who ya are. Ya can't just use it to make a pot o' tea, or as a weapon as ye all have been want to do." The small figure hunched over her congealing drink and sighed, "what can ya expect from a group of youngins that never gets to know their own magik. Hows can they treat others without contempt, or leave well enough alone others different than themselves when they reject their own if their magicks been scrambled. Theys that be throwin' the babes to us, but keepin' old warriors watched, an fixin 'em up when they've been violent with their crafts an' got themselves backlashed like." At this point Hermione had started to fume, she wasn't just infuriated at the betrayal of the wizarding world, or how they treated minority groups, she was outraged at herself, her pride. She had known there were arbitrary and unprogressive ideals within the ministry, all the pointless debates she had with Percy had illustrated a clear picture of what working for the government in this world meant, much like the non magical one; bribery, ethnocentricity, blackmail, and brainwashing all who could oppose the status quo, as in Hermione Granger and the rest of her fellow dupes at Hogwarts.

Many people still believed Hermione respected all adults in power, believing them to be founts of wisdom and deserving of their positions. Contrary to popular belief it had been a long time since she respected those she encountered without skepticism, or finding out if they indeed were worthy by her own estimations before she accepted them at face value. Her second and third year at Hogwarts had definitely helped her form that mindset. She was angry because despite knowing these things as facts she had not been actively opposed to it. She had allowed herself to be triumphant in the knowledge of her superiority of mind and did not either further her understanding or better herself in reality. She had shown how privileged she was. She knew from a young age that she had choices and freedom. She could refuse a job or create her own if need be and had always felt confident in her ability to achieve goals based on her own tenarity and gifts. A grimace flitted across her stubborn face as she thought of Ronald Weasley; he had always treated Harry with resentment and jealousy, something that had always made her furious. Though there was absolutely no absolving Ron, she did understand his misplaced anger. People in the Weasleys position did not have her luxuries, they had to accept what they could. The twins were in a position of success only because of investors, and they felt themselves forever indebted, even though they had worked for years on dangerous experimental potions and spells, to then have to be grateful for currency so they could sell their products was ludicrous. Then there was her, everyone praising her, giving her advantages when she already had them, knowing she could simply say no, or demand a change in terms and never appreciating that. This situation was exposing and humbling.

"Nay child it's not your fault fer not knowin', how could ya. They keep you busy enough at that castle, and most of them aren't in the know either. Don't kick up dust in a chicken coop, ya just be distractin' yerself and givin' them what they want. Don't go clouding the air lass, ya got things to be doing." Now that the warding on her magic had lifted she felt more like herself than she had in a long time, perhaps years. Even before she went traveling with Harry and Ron for the Horcruxes, she had been tormented by the conclusion she believed her friend was racing towards. Not since first year had she felt so unburdened, she could take her time and proceed with caution, there was no rush. Voldemort was gone, she had no allegiance to any organizations to gainsay her this time, she would get through to Harry somehow. At least she just had to free herself, technically there wasn't an all powerful evil wizard to defeat, perhaps in some ways he had been easier to deal with. What she had to take on was the whole wizarding institution. How can a single person change a whole culture. Hermione had not come into the wizarding world completely naive, she knew there were questionable practices and complacency where there should be progress since the very beginning. She had once thought that the best way of making a change was to become someone akin to a politician or legislator. Even with her exemplary grades she lacked affiliations and the magical lineage to make an impact in those sectors, she had felt downtrodden at the time. Only old houses could fill the seats, an old and outdated system. "Archaic", Hermione muttered. The woman beside her harrumphed again, "Young people these days, give 'em advice an' they call ya outdated. I thought ya was different lass, practical like." Medea looked at her sceptically a frown puckering her mouth. Hermione laughed, rasping slightly, her throat unused to the sensation. "No, I apologize, I was thinking of the wizengamot seats." Medea gave a chuckle, "buncha old duffers, their knees too knobled to stand up for anythin'. No fresh blood there, that was'na what I was meanin' when I said to get busy lass. We healed your body right quick, makin' ya think yer done with us an ready to bring down the toity nobs, as we's call thems in their obsidian chairs. Nay ya still need those memories and to regain your fortress before ya have ground to even stand on. Not to mention you's might want to find your lad down at the spitting stones. Ya call 'em the twin falls. Might run into somethin' nasty out there. I know a rusalka about those parts that has'na seen a man in quite some time, might be a rude awakenin' for her."

"My mother and I use to walk those trails in the summer, I never saw any evidence of one? My father rarely joined us however, perhaps he felt her presence somehow. They were both oddly perceptive, always holding hands while crossing the old bridge. Wait! My lad, no I didn't invite him here Medea, he doesn't know anything about these grounds...he left the rooms, I should have thought to warn him. The twin falls is miles from here. How could he have gotten there so quickly?!" Medea turned back in alarm, "Ya did'na invite him, then he's liable to disturb many denizens that are innocuous to the likes of you lass, but as he is marked and unguarded make him rather akin to a walking shank of lamb." Medea palmed her face rubbing the furrows maring her brow, "delivery you's call it?" With a grotesque gulp Hermione managed not to chortle like a...witch. Regaining composure Hermione hopped down from her perch. She had to find Malfoy before someone else did. It would take her at the least fifteen minutes to traverse the distance of the three miles separating her from the twin falls, if she were to enhance herself. A vice grip clasped her shoulder before she sprang to action. Incongruous to the pincer like grasp, a barely audible voice gently whispered across her ear, "Na lass, ya must'na expend yerself so needlessly, we go the fae way." Without thinking Hermione whirled about to face her companion, "what you have a magical fairy freeway?! I can't possibly get there in time, can you apparate with me, I'm aware house elves can.." breathless with panic and disbelief Hermione ceased speaking dumbfounded and feeling vaguely that she might have insulted Medea, but was relieve to observe a glint unrelated to animosity flit across the older womans face. "HA hA lass ya've got it, I likes to call it the 'fae way", I believe you all have something similar."


End file.
